


Satan's Wrath

by Doxx



Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: Angst, Bad Decisions, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Brotherly Love, Cheating, Deceit, Deception, Demons, Dubious Consent, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Lies, Manipulation, No Incest, Other, Self-Harm, Unhealthy Relationships, Violence, no happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:01:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26138530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doxx/pseuds/Doxx
Summary: You have been going out with Satan for months, and have yet to see his wrathful side. You decide to surprise him, to incite his anger and peer past his calm veneer.Things do not go well.Reader (gender not specified) and Satan and no happy endings.
Relationships: Luke (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Reader, Satan (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!) & Reader
Comments: 5
Kudos: 40





	Satan's Wrath

You knock, firm but not overly loud, and wait at Satan's bedroom door for response.

“Enter.”

You open the door and shut it carefully behind you, and take a step forwards into the Avatar of Wrath's room.

His feet are curled under him, as Satan sits with a book spread across his lap. He starts to smile as he sees who has come pay him a visit. He starts to say something, likely something sweet, then stills, sudden as he scents the air between you. 

“You should go.” his voice is a hushed whisper, his eyes wide and rapidly darkening.

When you do not move immediately, they narrow to slits, and his face twists into a snarl.

“Get out!” he snaps, spittle flying.

The book in his hands is turned concave, its spine shedding pages at the poor treatment. They flutter to the ground unheeded.

You are ready for this, had planned for it even. Even though the animal part of your brain that fears sharks when in any source of water is screaming that you ought to flee, you stand your ground. Legs slightly parted and heels planted against the floorboards, you remain.

You give Satan, your lover most evenings, a bright smile.

“Hey Hun....”

The book was ruined, as fingertips, not even claws yet, press deep into its cover and it starts to fall apart in Satan's hands. He does not seem to notice, but stares at you, breathing heavy.

“I am pleading with you. Leave now, before I lose my temper.”

“Maybe that's exactly what I want.”

“You know not what you are doing... “ he shakes his head, blond hair tossing from side to side, “This is dangerous. This is... cruel!” 

Satan is forcing himself to stay seated, you can tell. Old leather of his favourite couch creaks under the pressure, as he pushes himself downwards rather than rising to stand. The floorboards beneath him groan.

“I know exactly what I want, darling. I love you, all of you, but you never show me your more angry side. You keep it hidden, locked from view. I decided it was high time I got to meet the true Avatar of Wrath...”

Satan's expression twists, his face torn between grief and rage, and showing more raw emotion in the moment than he had done for the four months previous. 

He turns, pleading, as he casts the book aside (it was little more than tattered leather and torn papers by that point), and digs his hands into his lap.

“You on the cusp of something very, very dangerous. Go. Please.”

You shift from leg to leg, just enough to bring your hips into motion, and see the way Satan's nostrils flare at the scent.

“Before I came here,” you say, entranced at the way Satan is staring at you, “....I paid Lucifer a visit.”

“I know....” he growls, “ I can smell his filthy stink on you....” His fingernails claw against the tender flesh of his thighs.

“Then... if your nose is so keen, you know what we did....”

The air starts to shift, like pressure before a thunderclap. Satan starts to bend and twist, his spine extending into a tail, and his head suddenly contorting to accommodate the growth of horns.

He hisses, rendered inarticulate by his swelling fury. There is a last desperate gesture towards the door, before he curls in on himself, succumbing to the terrible transformation he can not hold his own against.

You gather your courage for you goal for this evening;

“So why don't you, Satan my love, fuck his seed out of me.”

He howls then, inhuman, as he shifts fully, fast, too fast. He is on his hands and knees on the floor, his tail thrashing and knocking books flying. You hear skin spilt as horns break through and claws rupture from fingertips. He seems sharper, made of more angles than usual, and his eyes are slitted and glowing radioactive green. 

This is not your Satan any more. 

It is the Avatar of Wrath, the embodiment of rage and retribution.

He is stunning, and fearful, and you have never loved him more.

He heaves for breath as he slowly gets to his feet, demonic and angry, his eyes fixated on you. Claws flex, and teeth open wide, letting you see every tip gleam sharp. 

He sniffs at the air, as there is an inopportune dripping of treachery between your legs, your body unable to hold in the cum of the first born as it starts to slide down your thighs.

There is a long pause, where you do not know if he is going to attack or fuck you in response. 

He hisses, lips drawn back so that you can see his pointed teeth. “Sssuffer...”

It is not the sound of someone in full control of their faculties, but something bore from overwhelming anger. It was the last word you will ever heard Satan speak.

You start to think you have made a mistake.

You just wanted a rough fuck, and Satan, poet that he was, had always been so kind, so controlled, so... gentle. You just wanted to see his more vengeful side; it had been a temptation all itself, imagining how he might take you, overcome and angry, and so very powerful. You wanted to feel him deep and hard within you, and know that you had him pact-bound and ultimately at your command. Then afterwards you imaged he would he would have been so caring, more so than usual, holding you long into the night.

This was not at all what you had expected, a wild thing, half feral, unable to be reasoned with. 

Satan had tried to reason with you.

You stutter, terrified, and step backwards, finally heading towards the door. Satan does not shift, and watches, silent now.

Satan seemed fixated on where you took Lucifer earlier, and where he left his mark within you. 

You'd lied to Lucifer, avatar of pride. You'd said that you have decided that you and Satan was not a match worth pursuing. That you'd parted ways, on almost amicable terms. You'd told Lucifer that you'd come to realise that none but the first born could have your heart. You'd stroked his ego, and stroked against his feathers, and stroked his cock till he had acquiesced.

When he pounded into you, he had been driven by desperate need to claim and make his conquest over you complete. 

He did not know that he was being used against his brother.

Even though there was bad blood between them, you very much doubted Lucifer would have so much touched you if he knew your plans. He certainly would not have had you, over his desk and deliciously deep, depositing his cum as he reached orgasm.

Satan had seen through your clumsy manipulations straight away.

Satan had asked that you leave.

You ought to have paid heed.

A fiercely clawed hand lifts, curled and ready to lash out . He hesitates, just for a moment, then strikes. 

You stagger back, stumbling into the door, as Satan digs his claws into his own chest, and carves gashes and groves where where your pact was writ into his flesh.

A sympathetic burst of magic hits you, and you clutch at your own chest, across the collarbone, where there were sigils and glyphs, but most importantly, Satan's name, tattooed against your skin. Signed and sealed, you remember being so proud to bare it when you made the pact with him.

It hurts less than when you received the mark, as it fades....

For you...

Satan is still working, excavating every last trace of your pact, making a bloody mess down his front. The scent of blood hangs thick in the air, and the demon does not meet your eyes as he rips himself apart. 

It is heartbreaking, and you cannot bare to see your love in such a state. You flee the scene.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Later. 

Twenty-three messages later. 

Satan has not even read them, let alone responded. You have not slept, but dared not leave your room, even for class. 

You cannot bare to see what you have wrought. You do not know if he even survived breaking your pact. 

So, six reluctant text messages to Lucifer, in growing urgency, that have been read and not responded to, and then there is a knock at _your_ door.

You open to see black feathers, but not the black feathers you were hoping for.

Lucifer stands in your doorway, and then starts to walk away.

“Come with me. We need to talk.”

He is in his demonic form, and that is not a good sign. That he did not even meet your eyes more so. 

You deliberate staying in your room, safe, but figure that the damage has been done. That if Lucifer were to want to kill you, there was no door strong enough to save you. 

You walk behind him, dragging your feet.

He leads you to his office, and strides beyond you to seat himself at his desk. Wings adjusting, and Diavolo already present, watching as you cautiously enter. You try to shut the door behind you, but Barbatos is there already, gentle sealing the room. 

You swallow against your fears and approach the desk. 

That Diavolo is present offers some safety. You might not be summarily torn to pieces and chucked from a window, not while he is watching at least. 

However, Diavolo is not smiling. Not today. He looks worn.

Lucifer straightens in his seat. He seems to occupy space like a vacuum; condensed, intense.

“Given recent events, I feel it pertinent that you ought not to stay in the House of Lamentation. lodgings have been made for you at Purgatory House. You will collect your things and move there immediately.” His voice is cold, clipped. 

His eyes do not blaze, instead, they are like coals burnt out to the last embers. 

You open your mouth to start to speak, to start to apologise, when Lucifer holds out a hand for your silence.

“What's done is done.”

It has a finality to it, and you struggle to find words that might break through.

“May I please see Satan...? Please. I owe him more than apology.”

“No. He does not want to see or hear from you.” Lucifer's eyes narrow, “And I will protect him from you, at all costs.”

That hurts, and you fist your hands. 

You look to Diavolo, your last resort, and see him look back at you. He is not angry, there is nothing but sadness in his eyes. You crumple under such a gaze, from one that was always so optimistic and joyous. 

You unclench your hand and bow your head, there is nothing more you can do. 

You leave the House of Lamentation.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

The Halls of Purgatory are pleasant, and comfortable. There are no creepy whispers in the corridors, nor skittering shadows as you turn on the lights. There are no random patches of draft, like someone exhaling a winter's breath, as you walk, or the sense of being watched, even when alone.

It does not feel like home.

The angels try their best to comfort you. It feels like a plaster upon a gaping wound (Satan's wound gaped, did you not see?).

You message Satan repeatedly, trying to make contact, pleading.

There is no response. 

After all, he pleaded to you, and was not heeded.

After an hour or two, you cannot but help note that Solomon is absent, and soon, you learn first-hand why.

One by one, you lose your pacts. 

The demon lords of hell would rather give up on the piece of your soul that they have claim to, than have any more to do with you. 

Luci is next after Satan, then Beel, Levi, Belphie and Asmo.

Mammon is last (Mamm, as you liked to call him), and you had held out hope that the greedy demon would be satisfied to have you all to himself. 

His name burns out soon before dawn at your first nights stay at Purgatory.

You feel empty, emptied. There is no power within you now, no protection. You think, no, you _know_ Solomon likely helped the brothers to unwork their pacts. You wonder if they had to sacrifice as much as Satan had to break free.

You feel undone, naked, and the next day at RAD it suddenly becomes very apparent what hold the demon lords had over their fellows. Demons leer at you in the corridors and on the street, and their eyes watch you at every moment. Sharp teeth snap, and jaws are licked, and you do not venture out save when you are with Luke or Simeon.

You do not feel safe any more. Not like you did in Satan's arms. 

There are five months left of the exchange program. After that you will (if you survive) go home.

But you will always remember that for a brief moment in time, you had the love of a demon.

And you ruined it.

And you will suffer for the rest of your life knowing that.

**Author's Note:**

> Definition of Wrath
> 
> 1: Strong vengeful anger  
> 2: Retributory punishment for an offence or crime  
> Merrian-Webster


End file.
